


Cross my heart and hope (not) to die.

by Ilerre



Series: Ways to Say I Love You [23]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Angst, Fatherhood, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Prison
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-16
Updated: 2015-10-16
Packaged: 2018-04-26 16:08:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5011144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ilerre/pseuds/Ilerre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cross my heart and hope (not) to die.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cross my heart and hope (not) to die.

0

The day Will Dixon stumbled upon the prison was the day Rick knew their precarious peace that came just after getting rid of the Governor for good was coming to its end.

In truth, there wouldn't have been a problem if Will Dixon had come to find the prison alone. Rick wouldn't have shot him with the sniper riffle, but he wouldn't have opened their door for him.

Thing was, Will Dixon wasn't alone.

He was followed by another man in tow—late teen—early twenties—and, (and that was what really froze Rick), a small child. Very small indeed. Younger than Sophia had been, younger than Carl was. The child must have been around three or four. Too small for this world. Too small to survive in the wild.

Too small to understand why people would let him die in this hell.

The rain had started early in the morning and had intensified into the afternoon. Now a storm was raging, the rain was getting more violent as hours passed, and the cracks of thunder and bolts of lightning, ominous and worrying, were enough to tie Rick's guts in knots. A weather like that could only bring trouble.

And trouble was Will Dixon. And the small child desperately clenched in the teen's arms. And the ten or so walkers following them out of the woods.

Rick and the others ran to the gate, looking at each other in worry and hesitation. The Governor and his reign of terror was all too fresh in their minds, as well as all the people they had lost.

Rick didn't know what to do and it showed on his face, and just at that moment, his gaze met the blue of the young man's eyes, and Rick read the plead there. The desperate need to _protect_ . " _Take him_ ," he said.

Rick didn't know if he'd just read his lips, or if the young man had spoken out loud, but the intent was very clear.

_Take the child. Save him. Protect him._

Drenched, blue lipped with shattering teeth and a pack of walkers behind him assuring his death, that young man's priority was the child in his arms.

Rick knew Will Dixon was trouble. But Rick knew in that second the young man with the child in his arms was worth anyone else in the prison.

"Open the gate!" he yelled at Carol and Bob.

He felt Michonne's calculating gaze on him, but chose to ignore her. He was taking a bet, a dangerous gambling, but he was nearly certain not to be wrong about the young man.

It didn't take long after that for Tyreese, Sasha, Glenn and Maggie to start banging on the fences to attract the walkers away from the main gate. They quickly put them down with their knives, while Michonne, Rick, and Carl had their guns trained on the three newcomer.

Rick felt a pinged in his heart at the symbolism in pointing a gun at a small child, but chose to smother it down. "Put your weapons down," he ordered.

The older man gritted his teeth— _troubletroubletrouble_ —ringing in Rick's head, and angrily took a step closer. "I ain't gonna take down no weapons," he snapped, spitting at Rick's feet.

The young man, trembling from cold, and hugging the child close to him didn't even look at the older man, and grabbed two knives and a gun from his belt, gently putting them on the ground in a non-threatening manners, unconsciously turning his body away to put himself between the older man and the child.  

"What're ya doin', ya good fer nothin' pussy!" the older man yelled angrily, stepping closer to the teen with a raised hand.

Rick barely saw the young man and the child flinch before he was already punching the man in the face, coldly watching him sprawl on the flooded muddy ground in unconsciousness.

The teen looked up at him defiantly, as if expecting Rick to hit him too, but the former policeman simply waved in the prison's direction. "Let's get inside."

The teen seemed to hesitate, staring at the prison, the man on the floor, and on the forest outside the gates, then the child whined—sad, and in exhaustion—and he didn't seem to hesitate anymore. "Lead the way, Sheriff," he said.

Rick snorted and walked to the prison, a hand on his gun, but his shoulders relaxed. He glanced back just in time to see the teen walk on the older man's sprawled body, before following.

0

The unconscious man discarded and locked in one of the most faraway cell, Rick walked back to the one they used for medical need. Their stock of bandages, medical tools and spare medicine were put away on shelves, and the bed was the most comfortable of the prison.

Rick exchanged a nod with Michonne standing guard in front of the cell, and leaned over the door. "Hershel, everything okay?"

The old man looked up from bandaging the young man's hand and smiled. "Of course, Merle and myself were just talking about missing the dogs we had before the outbreak."

Rick lifted an eyebrow. "Merle?"

The young man narrowed his eyes at him, shoulder tensed, visibly uncomfortable with being surrounded by so many unknown people. "Merle Dixon. Who're you?" he asked gruffly.

Rick huffed in amusement at his gruff tone but didn't take offence. "Rick Grimes."

Merle looked at him up and down, before nodding curtly.

"Now, let's take a look at this young man," Hershel said gently. And Rick had to blink at the child tucked against Merle's ribs. He hadn't seen him there, hidden behind the teen's massive bulk, buried in his flank in a small ball. He was wrapped in a blanket, but Rick could still see him shake from cold and probably fear. "Is he your son?" Hershel asked gently—nicely, slowly—as if talking to a frightened animal.

If there was something they had all learnt in this brand new world, it was the length people would go to protect their own. Their group was a prime example, and they all knew that spooking a man trying to protect his kin ought to get very ugly and violent if done in the wrong way.

Merle licked his lips nervously and grabbed the small boy to put his on his laps, wrapping his arms around him in a hug, but also to shield him from them. "Yeah," he answered after a moment.

It was said in a manner that was so direct and matter-of-fact that there was no reason to ask any more question. In the old world, people would have raised judgmental eyebrows at a man as young as Merle being a father, but nowadays, that had so little significance that they just accepted it and moved on.

"Well, then, let's see if everything's alright," Hershel murmured. "Would you and your son allow me to examine him?"

Merle rocked a bit back and forth, running a hand up and down the little boy's back before nodding reluctantly. "His name's Daryl. He's three."

Hershel smiled gently and waited for Merle to open the blanket gently. "Baby, that man's a doctor. He's gonna see if you're aw'right." The little boy buried closer to his father, shaking his head violently, and small tight fists tightening in his shirt. "I know," Merle sighed sadly, patting the small boy's head. "C'mon, be brave."

Rick blinked and watched in amazement as the simple command was enough to have the child leaned away from his father, and turn in Hershel's direction, small face blank and challenging, blue eyes icy and unwavering.  

The simple vision of such a small child with a face that serious, with so much adult emotions passing through it, testified of the harsh and uncompromising life they had lived until now.

Hershel gently asked Merle to undress his son, before gently putting the stethoscope on the small, undernourished chest to listen to his heart. He looked at his eyes, his ears, and his nose, to finish by gently palpating his belly.

All the while ignoring the atrocious scars littering the little boy's back and body.

Hershel straightened up and smiled grimly, fidgeting with his tools in a way Rick wasn't used to see. "He's undernourished and dehydrated," he finally said.

Merle nodded absently, gently helping the little boy's in his pants and buttoning the small checkered blue shirt. Apparently, Hershel wasn't telling him anything he didn't already know.

"Warm bed, lots of rest, water and food," the old vet said quietly. "For the both of you."

Merle ran his hand through Daryl's hair, rocking him in his arms and stared at Hershel before looking up at Rick. "Will you let us stay here?" he asked cautiously. "I can hunt, and track. I'm teaching Daryl. Give him a year or two and he'll be good to go too…" he paused and blinked down, burying his face in the damp strands hair of his son, as if suddenly realizing they all _might not_ even have two years to live. "I just…" his shoulders slumped. "I don't think he's gonna make it outside."

Rick helped Hershel stand and put a careful hand on Merle's shoulder. "You stay," he nodded firmly. And he didn't need the approval of the Council to give that assurance. They had done some horrible things in the past, but they weren't going to let a teen and his toddler rot in this world.

Merle seemed to shrink on himself at that moment, as if all strings had been cut from his body and he blinked back tears. "Yeah, aw'right, thank you. _Thank you_." The words seemed foreign in his mouth, and Rick could bet no one had ever done anything for this man that earned such acknowledgment.

Hershel smiled gently. "You rest now, I'll have Carol or Beth bring you something to eat in a few hours."

Merle nodded mutely, emotions clearly threatening to take over, and they both decided to leave him at it, gently closing the curtain of the medical cell.

Rick and Hershel exchanged a look with Michonne still standing guard, and the three of them all pretended not to hear the sobs coming from the cell.

0

A few weeks later, Rick watched as Merle knelt down in front of his son to hug him. Today was the first day he was going out on a run, and Michonne wanted to be the one to test him. The young man looked impassive but his movements were slow and full of care and love.

Daryl clang to his father desperately, tiny shoulders shaking with barely repressed sobs while Merle ran a hand up and down his back, whispering comfortably in his ears. "I'll be back real quick, Dare, aw'right?" Merle said after standing with Daryl clinging to him like a baby monkey.

He walked toward Rick and exchanged a brief glance with him before literally shoving Daryl in his arms. "Ya stay with Grimes, baby, I'll be back really soon," he said gently.

"Ya promise?" Daryl called shakily, watching his father walk to the car where Michonne was waiting.

Merle grinned and pressed his hand against his chest. "Cross my heart and hope _not_ to die," he laughed.

Rick snorted a surprised laugh and tightened his arms around the small boy when Daryl started to struggle, and as soon as the car started to drive away, the cries started.

It was unlike anything Rick had ever heard. It was so painful to hear Glenn and Maggie winced at the same time. It was so sad, so forlorn, bespeaking of loss, and a fear of abandonment so potent, Rick thought to call Merle and Michonne back for a quick moment.

Then the little boy started sobbing, calling for his father like a wounded animal and Rick had to quickly walk back into the prison, because his cries were starting to get too loud.

It was a long time before Daryl finally calmed down.

And not before Merle came back.

0

**Author's Note:**

> This work is unbetaed. Please feel free to point any typos you saw or missing words, or any sentences that just don't make any sense :)
> 
> **[SUBMIT A PROMPT HERE](http://hillbells.tumblr.com/submit) ******


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